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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25078840">Duet of the Damned</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/IAmWhelmed/pseuds/IAmWhelmed'>IAmWhelmed</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Origami Birds [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Son of Batman (2014), Super Sons (Comics)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Bombs, Damian Wayne Feels, Damian Wayne Has Friends, Damian Wayne is a Little Shit, Depression, Detective Conan AU, Enemies to Friends, Explosions, Gen, Hurt Damian Wayne, Protective BCPD, Protective Batfamily (DCU), Protective Damian Wayne, Protective Family, Protective Jonathan Samuel Kent, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, Suicidal Damian Wayne, Suicidal Thoughts, Unreliable Narrator</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 03:35:07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,860</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25078840</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/IAmWhelmed/pseuds/IAmWhelmed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Damian regains his memories and leaves his foster family behind, but he has nowhere to go with his father's perceived hatred of him and his weakness in the eyes of the Al Ghul Family. Is his life even worth living anymore? Nightwing, Red Hood, and Red Robin approach Talia for help looking for him, even if they're not sure they can trust her, and keeping a secret from Batman is never easy. Meanwhile, Phantom Thief Magician Kid 1412 makes his grand re-entrance into the world of crime 8 years after his initial disappearance, and Damian wants to take him down. Maybe then, he can prove to himself that he is capable of being something other than a monster?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Bruce Wayne &amp; Damian Wayne, Damian Wayne &amp; Original Character(s), Dick Grayson &amp; Damian Wayne, Jason Todd &amp; Damian Wayne, Jonathan Samuel Kent &amp; Damian Wayne, Mentioned Jason Todd &amp; Talia al Ghul, Talia al Ghul &amp; Damian Wayne, Tim Drake &amp; Damian Wayne</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Origami Birds [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1786054</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>95</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Okay, I've been working on this for awhile. If this were a TV show and not a fanfic, this would be the first Origami Birds movie, and as such, I've taken inspiration from Detective Conan Movie 5: Countdown to Heaven. I hope you all enjoy, because this is going to be a wickedly fun ride &lt;3</p><p>https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLYJ5-g1w2Orlh3Pi-zvas5QMzlaaXaH0l</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p><p>Every step he took, he could see a trail of blood at his heel, a reflection of the pain he’d dealt, and the open wound in his chest that seeped through his skin and tainted the cornflower shirt that’d once belonged to a boy named Chris, a boy who no longer existed, who maybe never had. Chris was snotty, irritable, but good, he’d loved, but Damian had stained hands he could never clean. He was an animal, simply incapable of being anything else but wild and thirsty, and when he thought about that, the wound in his chest grew monumentally bottomless, naked to his eye but scarred skin to the rest of the world. He touched it with the tips of his fingers and felt only the cotton of Chris’s shirt.</p><p>He’d think himself Damian, now, again, but that didn’t seem to fit, either. He was no prince of demons, and no right hand of the knight, he was forsaken, unwanted, unneeded. He’d never been a hero, could never be a hero, not like his Father, not like the sons he’d taken and the sons who he favored, and not like the son of Krypton. He belonged to no one, and while that freedom was, for once, refreshing, it was also a reminder he belonged nowhere. What was the use of him, with no name, no place, no home, no people, a broken heart so torn he swore it in tatters of frayed muscle. But to the places he’d gone, and the people he’d loved, he’d found a fraction of that echoed in the eyes of all-- his fault. He wrought tragedy with each step, forward or aback, so he’d tread carefully for what little time he sought left. Perhaps retribution could come by his own hand, and whatever misery laid for him on the other end of this world would have mercy, knowing he’d done it to rid those he’d lost of the ache he’d unintentionally fashioned.</p><p>For the moment, he’d rest.</p><p>Damian nestled into the small crease between an abandoned sofa, old, dirty, swarming with mice he could see under the risen fabric, and a dumpster, graciously emptied from that morning. He’d slept in worse, Damian had, and Chris no longer existed to find issue with it. He closed his eyes and pretended he hadn’t noticed the light footsteps that trailed him from the moment he’d left the agency. Chris had been a fool, hadn’t known enough to tell when he was being followed, was too much of a child to pay eyes on him the mind he should have. But he knew now, and he’d have to keep his wits about himself-- not a move yet, in all the months he’d been watched, but that didn’t mean they were friendly.</p><hr/><p>When she opened her eyes, she knew.</p><p>She’d been an only child her whole life, had never known what it was to have a brother, never known how it felt to look after a child roughly half her size with half her wisdom. Chris had changed that. She wasn’t sure if she was capable of forgetting the day she walked into the police station, the way he’d looked. Matted, blood-soaked hair, dry, with eyes that went on for miles and couldn’t understand a single sign on the roads he passed. So tiny, so lost, scared, used, abused, she couldn’t leave him to the foster care system. She’d taken a knee in front of him, looked into his beautiful emerald eyes, and she’d been done for. He was hers, her little brother, hers to take care of, to look after, to protect, to scold, and she’d loved every bit of it. It felt like a small piece of her, the tiniest, 4’5 piece, had found the rest of her heart and completed it. So she knew, now, what it was like to be a big sister. That warm, proud feeling, that obsessive need to hug and kiss, and the feeling of completeness that she hadn’t had since Mom had moved out.</p><p>But the sick, nasty feeling that permeated in her stomach and twisted in on itself until she wanted to throw up, she’d already known. She’d woken up under her father’s heavy arm, and a cartoon might have been playing, but she didn’t remember picking one, and she didn’t remember finishing the dishes, or lazing on the couch with Chris under her arm or in her lap. And that was when the panic set in.</p><p>“Chris? <em> Chris! </em>”</p><p>Not a trace of him, not in the living space upstairs, not in the office, not in the street below, not in his room or at the cafe below, and the sick disgusting feel that made her heave turned into something so dizzying that she fell to her knees and wept as the edge of the couch. Her dad, dazed, confused, came to only when she screamed and hit the floor with her curled fists. He was gone, she knew he was, and it <em> fucking killed her </em>. How could this happen again?</p><p>Her father must have felt it, too, that acidic pulse in his stomach, because he was up and searching the house, and she knew he’d come back empty just as she had. When he did, he fell to his knees in front of her and held her as he dialed 911. She wasn’t sure if she was weeping over her lost little brother, or the memory of someone she’d lost a long time ago...</p><hr/><p>It’d only been a few minutes, but pain made seconds feel like hours. The kids couldn’t stop crying, no matter how she held them. Johanna sat between Emrik and Clement with her arms around both as they wept, and Lucie-- small, loving, sweet Lucie-- dug her head into her chest and let her tears fall into her corn yellow t-shirt. He’d only been missing for hours, according to Liv, but despairingly, past experience told her that there was no finding a boy who didn’t want to be found. She glanced to her father, who sat crouched in his desk chair with his head in his hand and a tortured look in his eye. He met her gaze and shook his head, and she closed her eyes and tried to find a new center, without Chris’s presence.</p><hr/><p>The city of Bayard seemed calmer these days, quiet, and Chief Maguire was never sure if it was a result of the drug bust Detective Abner Tathum had pulled a mere five months earlier, or if it was the presence of Chris Tathum himself. The boy seemed to radiate justice, goodness, and he was oblivious to the way he drew people in. Despite his snarky attitude, his tendency to stick his nose in crime scenes, his million uncouth tendencies that sent some rookies into tears despite his size and round face, he was well-loved. Nobody would ever say it out loud, but the kid was under strict BCPD protection. No harm would ever come to his head so long as he was in their city, because he was their <em> goddamn mascot </em>, and he’d make a good officer someday. He could whine and bitch at the force all day every day, but that kid was their little golden boy. That was exactly why, when he got a call from Abner Tathum, who told him Chris had gone missing, every officer in the precinct was out looking for him.</p><p>Nothing had turned up, yet. Maguire sighed and rubbed between his eyes. 48 hours had come and gone, and still no sign of the kid. The likelihood of a kidnapper getting away with him had increased exponentially, assuming the kid hadn’t had a mental break due to his head trauma and wandered into the world by himself. Professor Bolvin had warned him it was a possibility. The possible abuse at the hands of the cartel they’d found him with, the crack in his skull, his memories coming back-- it was all an awful lot for a kid, even one as snide as Chris. Dealing with that all alone, he could only imagine what trouble their cherished little brat was getting himself into, now. “Your phone, sir.”</p><p>He hadn’t realized his phone had been ringing, not until the young woman who worked at the front desk had reminded him. Must have been out of it for a few moments.</p><p>“Ah, right, thank you.” He picked up the phone with one hand and stripped his head of his hat with the other. “Hello?”</p><p>“Maguire. It’s good to hear from you.” Chief Brodie of the Caedmon Police Department. They’d been friends at the academy, he hadn’t heard from him in awhile.</p><p>“Good to hear from you too, old friend. I’m guessing, since you’re calling my work phone, this isn’t a courtesy call?”</p><p>“You’d be right about that, Chief.” Maguire raised an eyebrow.</p><hr/><p>He hadn’t slept a damn wink, not for two days. He hadn’t felt like it, hadn’t felt the need to, even if his face looked like shit. Bags under his eyes looked so dark that he swore at himself in the mirror that morning. He should have gotten tanner with all the time he was spending outside looking for his stupid little adoptive son, but his skin seemed to only get paler as the hours wore on and on. Liv tried to get him to sleep, but he couldn’t, wouldn’t, not while that brat was still out there. Besides, if he zonked out, who was going to keep an eye on her when she slept? She’d been damn well restless, tossing and turning every night, grasping for a hand that wasn’t there. It was his job, as her father, to watch over her, to smooth the wrinkles in her brow with his thumb and wipe away the tears born of the living nightmare she couldn’t escape from even in her dreams. She didn’t need to know why he hadn’t slept, and he didn’t need to sleep.</p><p>The prospect of a nap, though, sounded much better than dragging himself into Maguire’s office at 1 in the afternoon. Maguire gave him a look as he plopped down into the seat across his desk, eyebrows raising under his stupid damn bowler cap. Why was he wearing it indoors, anyway? “Maguire.”</p><p>“Detective.” Maguire watched him for a moment, eyes searching. It made him fidget. “How are you?”</p><p>“How would you feel if your kid went missing?” He leaned forward, crossed his arms over his edge of the desk, tempted only slightly to lay his head down. “I feel like shit, Chief.”</p><p>“Well, I have something that might take your mind off this for a little while.” Maguire slid a file across the desk, which he took with hands that felt too eager. “Magician Kid, remember him? Apparently Chief Brodie got another one of his calling cards. First time in eight years.”</p><p>“Yeah, of course I remember him. The Phantom Thief with the magic number 1412. He’s back?”</p><p>“Targeting SymBioTech Industries, if you know where that is.”</p><p>“Sure, the heart of Caedmon City.”</p><p>“They’re opening up to the public for the first time on Friday. SymBioTech Towers, sure to be a real tourist attraction. Spend half the day playing with new inventions, spend the other half lounging in the second tower’s hotel.”</p><p>What was he, a SymBioTech spokesperson? Irrelevant information, all of it. Couldn’t he see he was short on time? Any moment that he wasn’t out there, looking for his kid was another moment he could be too late. It’d happened once before, ended a damn lifelong friendship and crushed his daughter. How could he do that to her again? “What did you call me here for, Chief?”</p><p>Maguire tried to smile at him, but it was forced, and he knew it. He gestured to the file in his shaking hands, weak from overuse, tired and feeble. “Mister Easton and his business partner, Lex Luthor, they want you on the case.”</p><p>“No, absolutely not.”</p><p>“Abner--”</p><p>“No, I can’t. Not while my kid is out there somewhere, probably half outta his mind! My daughter hasn’t stopped crying for days, and you want me to drop what I’m doing to catch some thief <em> that always returns what he steals </em>?” He was standing, and he wasn’t sure how that happened, didn’t remember telling his legs to push up.</p><p>“Abner! Listen to me!” Maguire stood and looked him eye-to-eye, on level with him, or at least trying to be. “You have my word that I won’t stop looking for your kid. There’s not a soul in this precinct that doesn’t want this kid safe, and we’ll do everything in our power to find him, but you have to trust me.”</p><p>“Trust you? Because last time I did that, Jimmy Sumner turned up dead!”</p><p>“And I’m sorry for that, but you know that kid had a problem sticking his nose where it didn’t belong!”</p><p>“Like my son doesn’t?”</p><p>They both fell silent, because dammit history was a bitch that repeated itself until you got the hint. His legs buckled on him, and he was in that flimsy office chair again, resting his weary head in his hands. Chris was too much like Jimmy, and those burning sky blue eyes that made the world feel a little lighter flashed in his mind as though he’d seen the kid yesterday. Chris’s smaller green eyes were there, taunting him, reminding him just how horrible he really was as a gumshoe. He wasn’t meant for this line of work, he never had been, and if somebody else died because he was too goddamn incompetent to save them, he wasn’t sure he could live with himself, wasn’t sure he could ever look Liv in the eye again. “I can’t just leave her here by herself, Joe. She’s tearing herself apart.”</p><p>“Take her with you. Easton and Luthor are willing to put you up in a hotel for the weekend. We’ll take care of things, here.”</p><hr/><p>He tried not to make it a habit of stealing food, but he was no fool to his circumstances, and it was just an apple. He was trained to survive on nothing for weeks, but that didn’t mean he’d be in the best shape. It was better to give his body some nutrients when he could, and nobody seemed to notice. He bit into it and found the skin scraping against his gums, then the juice and filling hitting his tongue. It was a welcome relief, one he’d savor while he could.</p><p>“The mysterious Phantom Thief Magician Kid returns to the world for the first time in eight years!” He hummed and paused as he passed by the blaring TV screens, view obstructed only by the signs plastered all over the windows. Sale, 30% off, not that he cared. The displays bellowed back at him, even from behind the thick store glass. “Police received a notice from Kid earlier this evening, detailing plans to steal the biggest fuel provider Lex Corp has to offer, Kryptonite! Friday night, at Caedmon SymBioTech Towers! Will you be there to cheer Kid on?” Kryptonite. Great, because that was exactly what any rookie burglar needed, unrelenting power over The Man of Steel (and his sunny-eyed, warm-smiled son). Kryptonite and ignorant hands would never be a great combination. <em> Maybe I’d get a reward for catching the petty thief? Perhaps enough to sustain myself until I come up with a plan… </em></p><p>With one last bite, he ditched the apple core in the nearest trash can.</p><hr/><p>The car was packed, though in the emptiest way possible. Two suitcases set neatly side-by-side in the trunk, with room for one more. She gazed at them and tried not to pay the empty space any mind as she reached up and grabbed the trunk door, shutting it ever-so-slowly. The suitcases disappeared behind heavy metal, and she took a steadying breath. Her dad set a hand at her shoulder, comfortingly, <em> Maguire will find him </em>.</p><p>“Where are you guys going?”</p><p>Emrik, Clement, Lucie, eyes wide as they approached the car. Johanna tagged along, not far behind, hands tucked behind her back. She was a girl who always looked tired, sad, quiet, but that was especially so. She could see it on the face of every Detective Boy. Their wide, hopeful eyes, usually so full of life and curiosity, were heavy and dull. Johanna, though her face read with little difference, the girl with normally perfect posture sagged in her shoulders. Liv blinked, then leaned down to their level. “Dad got a case over in Caedmon City. I’m going with him.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“But! You can’t!”</p><p>“Chris is still missing! How are you gonna find him in Caedmon!”</p><p>Johanna took a step back as the other three launched into a temper tantrum, and Liv raised her hands defensively. She’d never been particularly good at cooling kids with hot heads, Chris had never been one to throw a hissy fit, or throw his limbs around, and her experience with him was about as far as her experience with kids got. “A-Ah, everyone! It’s okay! Chief Maguire gave us his word he wouldn’t stop looking for Chris!” Not that those words sounded very comforting to her ears, anyway. She didn’t want to go, either, had no interest in leaving home in the case that Chris would show up at the front door, confused, lost, just like he had the day she met him. Every part of her told her that she should be staying home, waiting for him, but her dad had made a good point. It’d been a week, a very, very long one. Neither of them had slept very much, and her grades were already starting to slip. They needed a break, something to focus on, keep their minds on something that wasn’t Chris.</p><p>“Well, ya know…” Abner came around the rear seat, eyeing the open back door of their SymBioTech-funded Mercedes van. “The company that hired me has been doing some research in virtual reality. With this being their opening weekend, I’m sure they’d have something you kids would find interesting.”</p><p>The crying came to a stop, and the Detective Boys looked at each other contemplatively. Johanna sighed.</p><p>“You all should go.”</p><p>“But Johanna--!”</p><p>She raised a hand to Clement’s face, and he blushed and took a step back. “My father gave you those new badges for a reason. They should reach even the boundaries of Caedmon City.” Each kid reached for their pockets, pulling out what appeared to be a pin. A simple deerstalker sat at the forefront of the badge, the words <em> Detective Boys </em> scribbled in peignot font sat below the rim of the cap. “Their trackers should hypothetically reach well beyond Caedmon. Going outside Bayard City limits with it would be a good way of testing my father’s craftsmanship, wouldn’t you say?”</p><p>Emrik hummed while Clement and Lucie exchanged a conflicted, brow-furrowed look.</p><hr/><p>The night was dark, darker than it would be anywhere else, but that was a normal night in Gotham. There was never a quiet moment on the street, never a dull night for the bats that stalked the rooftops, and tonight was no different.</p><p>He had his eyes on a small group. Some dumb kids, trying to start their own drug ring, thought they could compete with Black Mask and the thousand other criminal masterminds in Gotham. They were wrong, of course, and they’d count themselves lucky that he’d found them before somebody worse had. But, for the moment, he’d steak out the roof across from what they thought was an inconspicuous gas station-- yeah, like nobody had had <em> that </em> idea before. It wouldn’t be any fun if he didn’t have the proof to slap their dumb little noggins with.</p><p>In that moment, there came a scuffling sound, and a roll. He nearly cursed. Couldn’t get a night alone, anymore, could he, with the demon brat gone?</p><p>Nightwing took a seat at his side, glancing in the general direction in which Hood’s binoculars were pointed. He looked solemn, more than was typical for him, as much as had become expected in the last four months. Things hadn’t been easy, not on a single one of them, least of all Bruce, but he wasn’t good at talking about that stuff, least of all when it was about one of his little baby birds going missing. Some traitorous part of him wondered if Bruce would still be this torn up over him, if he disappeared out of thin air, wondered if he’d care half as much about his ward as he cared about his blood son. (He knew Bruce would, he knew that he’d do the same for any of them, that he’d burn all of Gotham down if it really meant he’d find his boys). “You haven’t told Bats yet, have you?”</p><p>Nightwing shrugged. “Talia knowing Damian is missing is one thing. Asking her to help find him…”</p><p>He tried to bite back a smirk, because it wasn’t funny, it was just that the situation was tense, and he was always the kinda guy to laugh at a funeral. Nightwing wouldn’t know, of course, because his helmet covered any slight indication of a smile, but it was the principal of the matter. “She could take him home without us even knowing.”</p><p>Nightwing frowned, the correct response to a negative, high-stakes emotional discussion. “His home is with us. She knows he made the choice to stay. She accepted that. You know her better than any of us. You think she’ll go back on that?”</p><p>He sighed. “I wasn’t her kid. I dunno what she’ll do if she finds the demon brat.” Before they did, before Bruce could. The woman had always been a mystery, especially when it came to her son. Sending Damian to Bruce while she avenged Ra’s, but letting him stay because he <em> chose </em> to, he couldn’t make heads or tails of it, and he was sure Bruce couldn’t either. Then again, he’d known her in a closer, more intimate… more biblical sense… so maybe he had a less faint idea. They knew for certain she wouldn’t rest until the demon brat was found, the question was whether or not she’d let them in on it when he was.</p><hr/><p>“Magician Kid, who disappeared once for 25 years, then again for another 8, has reappeared in Caedmon City with the intent to steal from SymBioTech the very mineral that has made its leap in technology possible, Kryptonite!” Magician Kid’s notice, a small card with his trademark symbol, a smiling face with a monocle and blue ribbon over the white rim of a top hat. <em> Forgive my absence, Chief Brodie. Some people, not unlike yourself, have taken notice of my fine magic and are rather unimpressed, if not incensed. For that reason, I had to go away for a little while, but fear not! Your magnificent magician is back! This time, my grand reentrance to this world will be decorated with the most exotic of stones-- SymBioTech’s recently purchased Kryptonite! I’ll see you all for Friday’s Grand Opening! -- Magic Kid </em></p><p>A young man, head thick with tussled, loose curls of black hair, sat at the edge of his bed, hands clasped in his lap, knees bouncing in anticipation. His computer carried on at his desk, playing the local news, but it was simple, boring white noise, filtered in through one ear and out the other as a discarded thought. Though his wall was patched with posters out of magazines and printed photos, he was focused on one portrait.</p><p>Life-sized, and he knew that from memory alone, and every bit as regal as he remembered him, a portrait of a man with the same raven hair, the same vividly blue eyes, pulling confetti and fireworks out of his hat, like it was nothing. Sometimes he wondered if he was half as good, if one day, he could do magic on a stage like the man in the portrait used to, like he knew he still would have. He’d honed that same relaxed smile, that quick hand, but filling that man’s shoes was a goal he’d pursue for a lifetime, even if <em> his </em> had been cut short. He smiled. “The show must go on, neh, Dad?”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The rain was constant, had been since they’d hit about halfway out of Bayard, and it made her stomach churn.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The hotel room was nice, big enough to fit the kids, enough room for one more. King sized beds, a tub with jets, a beautiful room laced with the gold that patterned the comforter sets and decorated the walls with english wallpaper. The kids had done a good job of keeping the room tidy as they’d all settled in, and seemed to know that she wanted quiet, distance, even if her dad thought she needed more. Maybe she did. She’d been at the window’s sill, watching the rain pour all afternoon, tried to find solace in the way the streets glistened and the way the headlights of parking and passing cars hit the ground like a noir film, but if she thought like that, she’d see blood coating the street, and caution tape, so she clenched her jaw and focused on something else. How the world could go on so simply, how people came and went and </span>
  <em>
    <span>smiled</span>
  </em>
  <span> and probably called their friends, families, on the way home from work. If her life was cracked and threatening to shatter with every move she made to fix it, then how could everyone else pretend everything was okay?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, because they weren’t pretending. Nobody down below knew there was a jade-eyed, clever little boy wandering the streets alone, that </span>
  <em>
    <span>her</span>
  </em>
  <span> little brother was probably drenched in a downpour he couldn’t avoid, that he’d probably make himself sick and he wouldn’t come home so she could take care of him. Then again, Chris was smart, so incredibly smart, so maybe he’d seen the rain coming, gathered that a shower was due from the grey of the clouds over his head. Maybe he’d found shelter, and hopefully, </span>
  <em>
    <span>hopefully</span>
  </em>
  <span>, nobody was watching that little kid and thinking of horrible, awful ways to make a man of him in the dank, cold streets of Bayard City.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crime was low in Bayard, had been since the drug bust that landed Chris in their home to begin with, but that didn’t mean bad things didn’t still happen. She just hoped they weren’t happening to Chris. She knew it was selfish, knew that a good person didn’t think these things, but she wished, with no attempt at diminishing or recanting the honest-to-god wim of her heart, that these bad things would happen to anyone who </span>
  <em>
    <span>wasn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> Chris. She didn’t care who they were, didn’t care about their story or what would happen afterwards, if bad things had to happen to someone, she wished it upon them if it meant Chris stayed safe. How horrible, to wish pain upon someone else, but she found not even a hint of remorse to ruminate on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The kids flocked to the hotel room door and pulled it open, heralding in the cold air of the hallway and the anticipation of a fete. She glanced at her reflection in the mirror, thinking not about whether the makeup hid the shallow dark rings under her eyes, but about how excited she might have been had circumstances been different, if there’d been a jade-eyed boy smiling at her in the reflection, right by her side. She found her hand, unintentionally, gracing the empty seat on the windowsill next to her. She sighed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her dad appeared in the mirror of the window at her other side, eyes soft, gruff mustache painting him simply as a father retrieving his daughter, when it felt more like a man comforting a woman with an empty cradle. He smiled at her, tried to, and she couldn’t smile back. He set a hand at her shoulder and steered her away from the wet storm outside, and the sight of her dead eyes in the downpour.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>The SymBioTech Towers were the tallest skyscrapers Caedmon City had to offer, and despite the weariness of the last week, they were awe-inspiring. One tower was the hotel, the one Luthor and his business partner had so kindly set them up in, dozens of rows of floors, each with a view as amazing as the next with the circular ribbon of windows that scaled each floor. The top floor of this tower, it was a pool, at least, that’s what the attendant greeting them had said. A roof that parted and opened in the sun, then shielded customers from the heavy rains that would typically wreck a poolside weekend. The pool itself was rounded and shaped like a glob of paint on a thin canvas, surrounded by artificial trees, dusted with tiki bars and sprinkled with waterslides. A true getaway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The second tower was taller, and sat a handful of flights over the hotel. This was the part of the tower where there was business. Invention, testing, tours, the works, the true gem of the pleasure ground. The top floor was wide, spacious, and filled to the brim with people. Plum carpets under yellow lights, people decked in jewels and pearls, with suits that hooked their neck in a bowtie. There was a stage at the center of the room, round, open on all sides, and guests seemed to flock around the circle in a carousel of conversation, always hopping from one Hello to the next. Abner readjusted his tie, and Liv swallowed hard. Definitely not their usual scene.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The kids were less intimidated, eyes wide and smiles, for once in the week, genuine, excited. They ran to the buffet table before Liv could so much as reach for them, and began stacking the pretty, fancy foods onto their plates. They paid little mind, not that they could understand even if they did, to the company representative, who stood at center stage and gestured to the wonderful, awe-inspiring creations of SymBioTech Industries. The kryptonite, at the center of it all, strung high in the air, showered in lines of red that she could only assume were </span>
  <em>
    <span>literal, actual lasers</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It looked secure enough, in the strong grasp of what looked like robotic arms, holding it for all to see only from beyond thick glass and surrounding metal. The kryptonite, after all, was the guest of the hour, the biggest name in the room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The inventions that sat scattered indeterminately around the room were… more normal. One was a flashy red car that sat somewhere to the other end of the room, sleek, shiny, a convertible more expensive than likely any other tech in the room, or the floor they were on, at least. There was a stove with a great many more burners than the typical four that came with a more traditional one, and a lawnmower that sat as tall as a steamroller, looking just as effective, though Liv was sure that not all of these were meant to be sold to individuals, rather than businesses and companies. After all, every invention was powered with kryptonite, and she couldn’t imagine that the mineral was anything </span>
  <em>
    <span>easy </span>
  </em>
  <span>or </span>
  <em>
    <span>cheap</span>
  </em>
  <span> to get a hold of. Actually, now that she thought about it, what was the point of powering everything with kryptonite? Having unattainable things powered by unattainable resources was an ego boost, of that she was sure, but surely they didn’t have plans to mass manufacture this stuff? Unless they’d been trying to see only if they </span>
  <em>
    <span>could</span>
  </em>
  <span>, which was stupid.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ladies and gentlemen, please give a warm welcome to Mister--” She winced as Emrik and Clement ran by, playing tag, nudging her into her dad, who turned silently to the boys and hissed at them to behave. “--Easton!” A man with a small mustache, only a strand or five of hair, appeared on stage with the help of a lifting platform, squinted eyes so alight with joy, arms raised to gather cheer, suck in applause.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Welcome, everyone, welcome!” He stepped off the platform, one gentle step at a time, hands folded behind his back. “Tonight is a night of reckoning and rebirth, of awe and, perhaps, justice. After eight long years, Phantom Thief Magician Kid has returned once more! A master of disguise, a charming magic man in a suit, an artist of entertainment and the quickest of hands.” The room broke into applause, and Liv and her dad exchanged a look. She’d heard about thieves with a fanbase, Catwoman had a great many admirers over the web, but this was plain odd. The smiling faces, the eager applause, the way Mister Easton played the hype man for a thief that was planning to steal the mineral that fueled every last invention in SymBioTech Towers. She was starting to suspect that the grand opening was almost a Welcome Back party for Kid himself, rather than a millionaire’s way of showing off his brilliant, wild, unattainable inventions. The way this thief was celebrated, rather than feared. “Rest assured, though, our biggest supply of kryptonite is safe, and it will remain so no matter how Kid tries to get his hands on it. We have competent company today, ladies and gentlemen! Please welcome, Detective Abner Tathum!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Abner choked on the sip of champagne he’d had in his hand as the lights on stage turned on him, bright, loud, blinding, He winced and glanced around as the crowd turned his way and clapped, applauded, ooh’ed and aww’ed at him. He’d never been a man to seek the center of attention, and that was still the case then, as his face turned red and he tugged at the collar of his dress shirt. He managed a feeble wave, then turned his head, away from the lights, and chugged the last of his glass down. Liv sighed and clapped for her dad, too, though she shook her head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A girl, a long ways away, wandering not-so-aimlessly by the open door, glanced back at the center stage, and the spotlight that shined down on Abner Tathum. Good, if people were occupied, lost in the posing and prancing of eccentric rich men and sneaky thieves, the plan would go smoothly, but she still had to be quick-- lord knew that the enemy would be. She turned inched towards the open doorway. The stairwell would be better than the elevator, even if it was slower. Less suspicion, that way.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>A figure steeped in blackness, no skin to the eye, no shape to speak of aside from its distinct humanity, crouched about the first floor of SymBioTech Industries. The space was employees only, a mere unit room filled with air conditioning platforms and electric boxes. It was likely this was a spot employees flocked to during break, maybe for a quiet lunch, or a short smoke, but it was far beyond service hours, and the place was dark, quiet, deserted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Looking for something?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Most people would have jumped, but the shadow merely twitched. From a small distance before them, a small figure appeared, waltzing out from behind a water tank. Hands in pockets, smooth strut, relaxed posture, but that was to be expected of this kid. That was to be expected of Damian Al Ghul. He leveled the shadow with a narrowed set of eyes and a scowl, a perfect contrast to the slack way his shoulders sat, relaxed on either side of him. “You think I didn’t notice you following me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The shadow straightened out, hands falling lax at their legs, but there was still a tenseness there that Damian knew well, the kind that was still ready to fight on a moment’s notice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Damian’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not a fool. Why has she sent you? Why does my mother want to see me?” Still, the shadow, a low-tier assassin merely doing Talia Al Ghul’s bidding, said nothing. It tilted its head, not a sign of ease, but an acknowledgement, it’d heard him. He clicked his tongue. “I came down here with the intention of capturing this mysterious Magician Kid.” He gestured to the side, by an air vent. The shadow’s head followed, and he assumed it was only because their eyes were covered, that he couldn’t see them paying respect to him. “Over there, in the bag? A plastic mold containing a perfect replica of a low-ranking officer’s face. The vent next to it is already unbolted and loose, an easy escape.” And it was. A simple tug at the bars that filtered the air and it’d come undone in his hand, fast, easy, big enough to fit perhaps not a grown man, but a teenager. He’d have to keep that idea to note. Magician Kid was likely just that-- a kid. Or, roughly the size of one. “This means, after he’s taken the jewel, this basement will be his next stop. The only question is…” He paused, and tilted his chin up, grinning to himself, because this felt real, for the first time in a long time. He could feel the tension burning under his skin, feel the compulsion to move, fast, cut deep, </span>
  <em>
    <span>to fight</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It’d been awhile since he’d had such an appetite. “...will you still be here to see me take him down?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The shadow said nothing, but the lax posture that hid the readiness to defend, that disappeared, and it raised its arms in typical battle formation. Damian grinned. “--tt--” He needed some good stress relief.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>The party continued on as normal after Luthor’s partner left the stage, though there was a renewed earthly hum that filled the room, an excitement that had been brewing before was bubbling and boiling now, anticipation climbing every moment the clock struck closer to 10. The guest of the hour would soon make his appearance, after eight long years. The chatter grew despite the hush, and the muffled, jumbled words sounded more like a constant buzzing in Liv’s ear. Her dad felt the same, and took to sticking a pinkie in his ear in hopes of clearing it. The kids didn’t seem to notice, and were still running about the place, laughing. Lucie was staring up at the car with round lips and sparkling eyes. Clement was running around the car in curious circles, eyebrows pinching together as he tried to piece the car’s mechanics into a puzzle in his young mind. Emrik was trying to deduce how many cans of tuna he could fit into the back seat of the car. If Chris had been here-- and it was a dangerous train of thought, she knew-- he’d have already figured out what made the car tick, how the kryptonite that fueled it worked, where it ran through, burned it up, made the headlights shine, because he was just miraculously, remarkably smart like that. He’d have already started explaining it to Clement, who would have been nodding along and pretending to understand, and Emrik would have been arguing with him every other sentence, and Lucie would have been hanging off of his arm, all doe-eyed and cute the way only a girl with a heart full of puppy love could be. He’d have smiled at his friends, and rolled his eyes, and started over with simpler words. He was a little smartass, and she loved that about him, they all did. Had.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If they weren’t in public, she’d have taken her dad’s hand and squeezed it, the way she had only a year or two ago, the way she’d done when she’d left the amusement park and Jimmy never called her back. She’d known even then that she wouldn’t be seeing him again, knew it somewhere in her heart that, when he waved goodbye, and he ran off somewhere, that she wouldn’t see his big flashy smile anymore, or hear his voice, and she’d reached out to him but he’d already been gone. She’d waited hours for his call, stayed up all night with a sick, </span>
  <em>
    <span>sick</span>
  </em>
  <span> green swampy feeling in her stomach, sat at the edge of her bed and cried and she hadn’t known why, hadn’t the faintest idea why it felt like something in her was so horribly broken, because she’d just seen him a few hours ago, and he’d never been great at remembering to call. But she’d known then, even if she hadn’t realized it, that Jimmy was gone. That Jimmy wouldn’t be calling her again, and it would have been so much easier to pretend he just didn’t care to call her. And what really killed her, what made her feel sick and </span>
  <em>
    <span>gone</span>
  </em>
  <span> and made her tremble, was that she’d felt the same way the moment Chris went missing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her dad set a hand at her shoulder and squeezed, pain in his eyes and a sad smile tugging at his hairy lip, and she tried to smile for him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Until the lights went out. She blinked, as did her dad, and there was a startled yelp from all around the room as the women lost their footing suddenly. Liv looked to the car, but it was too dark, and she couldn’t see the kids anymore. Her dad’s hand slid down to her wrist, and she clenched her fists and got into the stance that she’d memorized in karate for years. Luthor’s partner glanced around only a few feet away, looking concerned, probably not having anticipated their honored guest making such an up-close-and-personal appearance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suddenly, there was a light on stage, a singular spotlight, right at the center. A young man’s voice, thick with a japanese accent, filtered through the room, as though somebody had attached loudspeakers to every nonexistent corner of the circular room. “Ladies… and… gentlemen!” And then there was smoke, and those closest to the stage coughed, some waved away the nearest clouds, while others turned their heads. But the smoke was gone only a moment later, and where there’d been thick, gassy air, there was then a young man in a suit of pure white. A top hat, a blue ribbon tied at the end, a monocle on one piercing blue eye, a red tie neat at his chest to pull it all together. He had his arms raised above his head, and a wide, ear-to-ear grin tugged at his lips, palms to the sky, fingers parted almost to welcome the eyes on him. Then he lowered them, one hand behind his back, the other pressed snug and polite against his chest as he dipped into a bow, head tilted to the floor. She was amazed his hat didn’t come toppling off. He raised his chin, a boyish, impish look in his uncovered eye as he grinned damn near devilishly. “Showtime.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At his accent, fireworks went off-- literally. The floor was suddenly coated with sparklers that lit the room in a dazzling moment of new year’s beauty, warm, yellow light swallowing the darkness, lighting eyes and hearts alike as the top floor of SymBioTech Tower 1 became a celebration under the stars. The roof didn’t register anymore, not in the company of the blinding lights and crackling, popping noise of sparklers, falling through the air, carried by nothing as they floated and showered the world around them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then there were bubbles, clear, crystal, blue and white bubbles that drifted like a snowy dream from seemingly nowhere but above. Liv caught one at the tip of her finger, eyes wide as she caught her reflection in the bubble as it roamed her skin, blue eyes big in its echo image. The audience gasped and cooed in delight, some snapping pictures, others basking in the glory that was the performance Magician Kid was putting on.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>His mother’s assassin was fast, but no faster than he’d expect of any low-ranking troglodyte in the League. He could tell in the way the shadow dodged, grew offensive only when it was safest, when he had an opening that he may or may not have deliberately provided, and in the way it kept its distance. It’d been trained to be effective, but he’d been trained to be the best. He leaped into the air, threw a kick at its head that it ducked under, and as he predicted, took the opportunity to grab him by the crouched leg he’d leapt with. Too easy. Damian twisted his body as the shadow yanked him down, wrapping his free leg around its waist to lift it up and slam it head-first into the ground. It landed without so much as a grunt, and Damin flipped away. A few feet’s distance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It pressed its hands into the ground, then lifted its head, seeming to gather itself for a moment. He wondered if it’d been given strict commands to leave him unharmed, but he knew his mother. She knew he could handle himself, that he wasn’t weak on the surface no matter how soft being with his father had made him. She wouldn’t worry about one of her lackeys hurting him. Rather, he wasn’t sure she’d care if they did. If it meant the bottom line of getting his subservient body at her feet, he wasn’t sure she’d care just how black and blue he’d have to be. She didn’t care. Father didn’t care. Nobody did. His fists clenched.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The show raised itself up, got back on its feet, and suddenly it was charging him. He leaped out of the way, backwards, then to his right, then down as he swept the shadow off its feet with a low kick. It caught itself this time, palms to the floor, then launched its raised hind legs to land on its feet. It turned, threw a punch that Damian only barely blocked with his forearm, then kneed him in the stomach. Damian flinched and hissed, twisting his body with the direction of its knee to lessen the blow. He used that momentum to twist around to face its back, raising his elbow and hammering it down upon its shoulder. It went stumbling forward, and Damian grinned to himself. It was getting bolder, probably was playing defensive for the sake of its own life, before. It probably didn’t know Damian wasn’t going to kill it, didn’t know he’d sworn off adding blood to his hands, that he hated himself for the lives he’d snuffed out as it was. Even if his father thought he was a monster, even if he was, he didn’t have to continue to be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He winced.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was another person in this room. He hadn’t noticed them before, maybe because they hadn’t been there before, but they were there now. Things seemed to happen in slow motion from there. He turned his head to the only entrance, to the door he could now see was inched open, to where, in the inch of light that came from the moon outside, there was a glint.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A gun.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Damian tensed. “Get down!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The shadow heard him, but the warning came too late. A shot rang through the air, and it happened so fast, too fast, and the shadow wasn’t even turned to face him yet, hadn’t recovered yet, but then there was blood, and a hole in its head, and it fell limp to the floor with a sickening thump, and a splash into the puddle of its own blood. Damian twisted to find the door still cracked, though the third figure that had suddenly appeared and disappeared-- not entirely. He could hear their retreating footsteps. He growled and ran for the door. He could see them running, retreating. Not on his watch.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>The police had flooded the stage only moments after, seconds, maybe ten, if she thought about it hard enough, but Kid was already gone. In a picturesque explosion of smoke and what appeared to be an uncomfortable helping of glitter, the squad found their raised handcuffs only linked to each other. The men fumbled together, yanking at cuffed limbs, falling over themselves. It was almost comedic, the way they grunted and yelled at each other as they struggled. One officer pulled the key out of his pocket, but amid the fumbling and yelling, his hands stumbled and it slipped through his fingers. Another round of unintelligible, angry squawking filled the stage.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Looking for something, Mister Policemen?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another round of awe filled the room as everyone’s eyes turned up. Liv felt the breath leave her, as well as her dad’s hand. Kid, sure enough, stood atop the mechanical arms that had locked the kryptonite in place, juggling the mineral in one hand with a cocky little grin on his face. There was a round of applause, loud, deafening, enough that Liv had to cover her ears. Again, she looked around for the kids, but it was still too dark, and she was only hardly aware of her dad’s presence still next to her, tense, hands in clenched fists. Kid tittered to himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nobody noticed the lone figure in the crowd with a smile on their face, how they didn’t cheer, how they kept to the back, away from the crowds and close to the doors. Their teeth bared, they reached into their pocket, and they pressed a small, red button.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>He was gaining on this person, on this murderer. They were fast, but not as fast as him, and it didn’t look like they were as skilled. They’d used a gun, after all, were running instead of fighting, and he could hear their heavy breathing from where he was a few feet away. Untrained. Quiet, but out of shape, at least, not as in-shape as somebody who wanted to get away with killing a League member would need to be. The stranger swung open the front door, leaving it to shut on him as he gained, not that it slowed him down much. He rammed into it with no hesitation, taking a deep breath as he made a leap for them. If he couldn’t catch up, he’d tackle them, knock the already-light wind out of their lungs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No sooner did his feet leave the ground, there was an explosion behind him that sent him flying much faster than he would have before. He yelped, as did the stranger, and he landed face-first in their chest as they both rolled to the ground. Behind them, Damian could hear the tell-tale signs of a fire breaking out. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What</span>
  </em>
  <span>?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He winced and pulled away, shaking his head clear of what felt like spare shards of glass, tangled in his hair. He landed on top, hands caging the stranger below on either side of their head, calves locked on either side of their hips. The stranger below blinked up at him. A girl, Tim’s age, he thought. Curly, messy, short black hair that got in her eyes, which were big and brown and outlined in deep black eyeliner. He would have thought she’d look mad, maybe even pleased with herself, but when the fire hit her peripheral, she only looked scared. They both turned to the first tower, eyes wide as another explosion made for another round of flames, wild, reaching, surrounding.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He glanced up, where he knew Kid was, where he was half expecting Kid to leap out the window because he’d known Damian was there all along, but instead he found something much worse. The kids. Emrik, Lucie, Clement, all cowering now the windows as they glanced around, eyes wide with terror he wasn’t there to pacify. His heart sank in his chest, because how could he have been so stupid? How had he not known they’d be here, how had he not taken a damn moment to scan the list of expected guests? And now they were in danger, and it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>his fault</span>
  </em>
  <span>. The scream that tore up his throat was primal, and made his eyes burn. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Kids</span>
  </em>
  <span>!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Mama</span>
  </em>
  <span>!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sat back on his knees, eyes wide, meeting hers as they both blinked. She gave him a small smile. “Truce?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Damian scoffed. “Until I can get you in handcuffs, anyway.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They both stood, taking off in a mad dash back into the first tower. The girl beside him smirked. “Yeah, good luck with that, Al Ghul.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nearly tripped in surprise, because that was the first he’d heard another voice say that name in a long while, because she </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew who he was</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He bit down on that thought, compartmentalized it and saved it for later. For the moment, his only goal was getting to that top floor, getting those troublesome kids to safety. The thought brought a smile to his face. He didn’t notice yet another shadow watching after him.</span>
</p><hr/><p><span>This… was not going as planned. He’d expected his father’s murderers, of course, to strike sometime soon after Kid’s reappearance, but he didn’t anticipate such an early reunion-- not that he could find a suspicious son of a bitch in the crowd (though he supposed he wouldn’t necessarily know a dad-killing bastard at first sight). This was his fault. His appearance put all of these people in danger. He clicked his tongue as the body of the tower shook and screams took center stage before amusement. </span><em><span>Okay,</span></em> <em><span>breath. There’s a bridge from this tower to the next on the floor below. I’m not seeing smoke, yet, which means the fire has a few levels to grow before anybody is in any real trouble.</span></em><span> He glanced around the panicked crowd, raising his cape over his mouth before casting it like a second shadow over the length of his body.</span></p><p>
  <span>He reappeared behind a girl about his age, thinner side, though she had an awfully nice chest… </span>
  <em>
    <span>focus, you horny bastard</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he could hear </span>
  <em>
    <span>her </span>
  </em>
  <span>voice in the back of his mind, see her fiery eyes as she swung her backpack around the place trying to hit him. He nearly laughed to himself-- she’d have been so mad if she knew he was sizing another girl up. Though, he supposed as he got a good look at her face, her maya blue eyes were very similar, as was that cute little nose and the purse of her lips. All very similar to the red-hot eyes in his mind. He wrapped an arm around her from behind, tugged her arms and all into his chest. She squeaked and tried to wriggle her way out, but he was stronger than the fit of his white suit gave him credit for. He raised a hand to gather attention, and the dozens of eyes in the room turned on him at the next moment. “Everyone needs to evacuate! It appears somebody has taken insult to my return, and me and this lovely lady won’t be sticking around to hear another word!” She struggled again, but he held firm, reaching with his other hand into his back pocket as they all watched the hand that was busy keeping his new lady friend still. After all, magic was all about distraction.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Liv!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dad!”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t worry, Princess, I’ll keep you safe</span>
  </em>
  <span>. With a smile, he threw the flash bang down, leaving behind only a cloud of smoke where he and his hostage used to be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Abner took a step forward, eyes wide, hand outstretched to touch the space his daughter stood only moments ago. That damn thief, if he’d known the man would reappear with a sweet tooth for girls made of sugar and everything nice, he would have strapped her with a gun, or maybe a very long, sharp knife. A delicate hand laid upon his own, and he blinked. A woman, an older woman, middle-aged, the age of his wife he thought belatedly, shook her head at him. “Kid is a gentleman thief. He won’t hurt your daughter. Right now, we need to get out of here.” He took in her long hair, not quite blonde, not quite brunette, age in her eyes but not in her skin. Her lips, a pink-brown color in a thin line, told him she knew what she was saying, that she’d done research on Kid, and he wondered how that could have been. But he trusted her-- had to, really. He nodded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Everybody gather at the next floor down! We’ll take the bridge across!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The crowd thinned, slowly but surely, women and their escorts weaving between other men and Abner himself. He hadn’t caught sight of the kids, yet, couldn’t be sure they hadn’t already made it to the other side. Children should have gone first, but the panic was too great to pay attention, and they were the only kids to make an appearance at SymBioTech Towers, anyway. The stairwells filled with people, three at a time, until eventually everyone made it to the bridge. The building shook, and new explosions went off every few minutes, though they felt smaller than the ones that came before. As the people thinned, eventually the kids emerged, Clement running into his legs and hugging at him with his small, trembling hands. Abner bent down and held him, reassured him in the hushed tones only adults used with children that things would be okay, that they’d make it out. Lucie and Emrik trailed behind, and Emrik was terrified of the height while Lucie was eager to get across, all but sprinting for the other tower.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Most had crossed over by the time the bridge blew up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Abner watched as the bridge fell right before his eyes, hands reaching out to grab Lucie’s shoulders as he pulled her back into his chest, her small feet caving and inching over the broken paneling like rocks and pebbles as they tipped over the cliff. Clement leaped back and screamed, tripping over rubble and hitting the ground with a cry and a thud. Emrik wailed, and the woman who had so urged Abner to move forward gripped him and petted at his shaking, paranoid head. “Shit!” Abner took a careful step backwards, Lucie followed. Then another, and another, until she turned around and whimpered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clement whined, low at first, tears building in his eyes that he bravely kept at bay as he pushed himself back up onto his butt. He reached for his leg, rubbing at it right above the place it hurt most, the place he’d likely sprained himself. “It’ll be okay, we just have to keep moving.” She bent down to Clement, turning so he could climb on her back. “Everything’ll be all right, dear. Here. My name is Miss Adler, I’ll get us out of here.”</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>He didn’t even take the kryptonite. She didn’t see it anywhere on him, though she supposed a magician’s job was hiding things. He’d taken them down two floors, but found they’d been filled with fire. The other side of the floor was yet to catch, but there was too much in the way, too much broken wood and falling paneling. They’d die well before they reached the stairwell of this floor. Kid was a few steps ahead of her, glancing around, apparently not all that worried she’d kick his ass for taking her hostage-- although, she supposed she wouldn’t considering she’d have to lug his half-dead body out of a burning building lest they both become fully dead bodies. “You didn’t take the kryptonite.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Huh?” He whipped around, big blue eyes blinking back at her, though they looked red in the light of the flames surrounding. “That’s what you’re focused on right now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why? You’re a thief, aren’t you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kid scoffed. “A gentleman thief, thank you very much!” His eyes caught on something to their left, by the window. The fire hose curled at the wall, under the glass. His eyes lit up, wild and flaring even in the company of the actual fire she was starting to feel melting her skin, choking her lungs with clouds of smoke and heat. He reached for what appeared to be a gun at his belt. She blinked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t understand! Why didn’t you take what you came here for?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t you get it? The kryptonite isn’t what I was after!” He aimed his gun at the window, then shot again and again and again. Cards, sharp and dangerous flew by and she winced. The glass shattered under the barrage with a spine-gripping smatter. Some noise escaped her as she reached up and gripped at either side of her head, palms over her ears, fingers gripping her hair. Kid crossed the way, and she watched him as he took the fire hose from the wall and wrapped one end around a post that looked maybe worse for wear, but sturdier than anything else burning. The other end, he tied to his waist, then he turned to her and smiled-- determined, cocky, sure of himself. He wrapped an arm around her waist, and she gasped as he pulled her flush against him. Liv blinked, trying to clear the blur of her eyes as his nose brushed against hers. She could feel his hot breath on her lips, how minty he smelled, the strength of his hand, dangerously close to delving lower (life-or-death situation or not, she was going to leave him a bloody stump if he went any lower). “What if it was you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She felt her face flush, even in the heat of the fire.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the next moment, he’d leaped out the window. She clung to him, then, screaming, shutting her eyes as tight as they could go, fingers clenching threateningly at his shoulders. The free-fall made her stomach flip, right into her chest, choked her by the throat. Her legs felt useless, light, numb, unable to find solid ground to feel human again. She felt dead, like her life was already forfeit. Kid only held her tighter. After a second, the jolt of the leap and the burst of her heart, she opened one eye.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And she saw him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chris, running </span>
  <em>
    <span>into </span>
  </em>
  <span>the building, running </span>
  <em>
    <span>toward</span>
  </em>
  <span> the fire, like she knew he would have-- like he was! He was alive! And okay! She’d seen him! He was there! The same big green eyes, just as alive, just as determined as they always had been, lips curled in a snarl as he raced across the fourth floor. She wondered why he was there, where he’d been, if he’d still smell like ice and spearmint if she hugged him, if he’d whine when she refused to ever let go. She wondered if he had his memories back, if he was feeling okay, if he’d eaten or bathed or-- “Chris!” His name tore at her throat, but they’d passed that floor in the next second, and he was gone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kid launched his legs down and swung them into the third floor’s window, once, twice, then pushed off with his feet and came swinging back at the glass like a wrecking ball. The window shattered, and they went rolling. He raised one hand to shield her head, holding her to him as he took the brunt of the fall. They rolled until they came to a natural stop, and Kid raised his hand to push himself off of the ground, off of her. She stared up at him, and he nodded with an uncharacteristic (at least, for the ten minutes she’d known him) set level lip and tenacious eyes. “You should be safe, now. The fire originated on the fifth floor, shouldn’t reach the top for another hour, and it won’t reach the bottom floor for longer. Take the stairwell down, we’re on the third now, you’ll be charcoal free.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She gripped at his sleeve. “My brother!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Huh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My brother Christian! He’s only ten, and he’s still up there! I just saw him! Eighth floor! Please, you have to go help him!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kid blinked at her, and for a second, she wondered just how ludicrous she sounded. He was a criminal, a thief, gentleman or no, and he hadn’t done anything particularly heroic to speak of. After all, she was his hostage, he was obligated to--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kid sighed, and raised a hand to cup her chin between what she could feel were nimble, quick fingers.  He pulled her closer, again, close enough that she had to look into his eyes, close enough that their noses brushed. His nose, his face, his eyes. Her heart pounded in her chest, because truly, </span>
  <em>
    <span>painfully</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he looked like </span>
  <em>
    <span>Jimmy</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Like the boy she’d grown up with, the boy who’d shown up with a bleeding head in the snow, three days too late to save him. Like the boy she’d loved and never told. He smiled at her. “You’re lucky you’re so gorgeous.” She did not squeal. She didn’t. He pulled away from her, stood up and raised one half of his cape with a wicked grin and a small round bomb in the other. His eyes glinted in the moonlight, every bit as mischievous as those lips. “I’ll save your little brother! But don’t be too upset if he prefers a Big Brother after this!” With a wink, he threw the bomb to the floor, her face was filled with smoke, and just like that-- he was gone. She blinked, owlishly, then grimaced and slammed her fist into the floor.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Thinking he might have been Jimmy, yeah right!</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The stories of this series will not be released in chronological order, but I will reorder them in the series so that they are listed in chronological order.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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